


Finding Our Way

by YinNocturne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Everyday minor D/s, Other, tri-wizard tournament
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YinNocturne/pseuds/YinNocturne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who would have expected a strong willed, strong tempered Weasley to be a submissive in need of a dominant, especially at that young age?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Ron Needs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Donut Test](https://archiveofourown.org/works/252597) by [nubianamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy). 



> A platonic dom!Harry, sub!Ron fic. My knowledge of BDSM comes from fandom, if you want to try it in real life, please do your research first.  
> At this point it's pretty fluffy, just comforting and forgiveness of bad decisions.
> 
> Tell me what you think! All opinions are useful - read: I have no idea what I'm doing...

Most people didn’t realise or remember what Ron was like before he left for Hogwarts; that he was worse than the Terror Twins. No one knew why, not even his parents. But Ron knows, now at least. That he’d acted out because he wanted the punishment – being put over his mother’s knee — and then the comfort of being held afterwards. That was what he needed, the absolution of true submission. 

But when he got to Hogwarts he couldn’t get it anymore. After all, who would have expected a strong willed, strong tempered Weasley to be a submissive in need of a dominant, especially at that young age? He became antagonistic, unruly and his already explosive temper flew to a hair fine trigger. 

**Year Four – After the First Task**

“Where do you reckon Ron is? I would’ve thought he would have seen I didn’t put my name in the Goblet by now. I mean I did almost die trying to fight that dragon.” Harry said to Hermione while they were waiting for his scores to be announced.

“I don’t know Harry; he slipped away just after you got the Golden Egg.” Hermione replied, looking worried.

_ Hm, I wonder where he is,  _ Harry thought absently watching the judges as he was scored: 8 from Maxime, 9 from Crouch and Dumbledore, 10 from Bagman  _ what’s he playing at, I was injured!  _ and a 4 from Karkaroff  _ biased fool, I’d bet my Firebolt he gave Krum a ten. _

Ever the quickest with math Hermione was the first to proclaim, “You tied with Krum, Harry!” As he gazed out over the cheering crowds he thought  _ why do you cheer for me, or is it in fact for Krum. But if it’s for me, why are you cheering for a misplaced boy in a competition for men. This world is so backwards; they whine about my being chosen but when it comes around for the tournament, they cheer for me anyway. _ Sighing in disgust, he turned to Hermione and said, “I’m going back to the Common Room, I’ll meet you there, yeah?”

“Sure Harry.”

With a quick wave Harry trekked up the grounds to the entrance hall, winding his way through the familiar halls. Halfway to Gryffindor Tower he was tugged into an abandoned broom closet by his sleeve. When he pulled out of the grasp and turned, all he saw was a shock of bright red hair before Ron was collapsing into his arms, clinging to Harry as he sobbed. 

“I’m sorry, Harry, so so sorry. Please forgive me, I’ll do anything. Just please, Harry… please.” The litany was barely audible through his sobs. 

“Ron, Ron!” Harry got a firm grip on Ron’s shoulders and pushed at him, he didn’t budge at all, Ron was quite a bit larger than Harry after all. “It’s all right, Ron, it’s fine. I forgive you.” In his concern over his friend, Harry let go of his previous temper. 

Soothing his red haired friend as best he could, smoothing back his hair, whispering calming nonsense in his ear, he waited for the tears to subside. Harry comforting Ron in the way he wished he’d been soothed when he was younger, and his only ‘comfort’ came from Uncle Vernon’s belt.

Eventually, Ron’s sobs reduced to pitiful sniffles and he said, “Do you really, I mean, you’re not just-” A shuddering breath, “I don’t know, sayin’ it *sniff* to make me feel better, I don’t think I could take that.” 

There was a deep furrow in his brow and Harry passed his thumb over it, trying to take away the tension, “I do, really, Ron. I just don’t understand why you would believe that I would willing enter myself into that death trap of a competition. Contrary to popular belief I do have some self-preservation instincts, even if they are often overwhelmed by my ‘saving people complex’, as Hermione calls it.”

“I didn’t really, believe that entered yourself,” Ron said quietly. “I just, I feel so messed up. I can’t keep my temper in check, no matter how hard try. And some days, I just… I don’t know I feel like I’m not myself at all.” He trailed off, looking miserable. 

Harry sighed, pulling Ron up against his side, “Hermione would say it’s hormones.” He said dryly, and Ron chuckled at the thought, though he subsided quickly. 

“I don’t think it’s just hormones, Harry.” Ron said, with unusual brevity. “It’s been like this for a real long time. I think I was just dealing with it better before.”

“Can’t you use your old coping strategies anymore?” Harry asked, rubbing a hand up and down Ron’s bicep. It probably should have felt strange, to be comforting another boy in this way, but Harry, lacking such comfort in his lonely childhood had a rather different sense of normality when it came to comforting others. 

“I don’t think my mom would pull me over her knee anymore, Harry,” Ron snorted, “and I wouldn’t trust anyone here to do it.” 

Harry sighed again, feeling the frustration rolling of Ron in waves, “Is there anything else you could try, I don’t know, a magical stress ball or something?”

“A stress ball?” Ron raised an eyebrow, “I’m going to assume that’s some weird muggle thing. And no, nothing’s really worked. And before you suggest that it’s some curse or potion or something, I’ve been at Hogwarts for four years and in Pomfrey’s care in the hospital wing enough times, most often thanks to you, Harry.” He grinned and elbowed Harry, and they both lost themselves in the memories of their adventures, which always lead to them ending up in the hospital wing for a decent amount of time. 

Some minutes later Harry stretched a little, the adrenaline high of out flying the dragon having waned and left him exhausted, “You feeling better now?” he asked Ron, “Because my nice, comfy bed in our dorm is calling like a siren song right now.” He said with a crooked smile.

“Yeah mate, I’m feeling better.” Ron returned his smile and pulled himself away from Harry; trying not to react to the sharp sensation of loss at the lack of contact. 

“You know you can, like talk to me, or anything. If you want to, I mean.” Harry said haltingly, not quite sure how to articulate his need for Ron to know he would support him, just  _ be there _ for him if he ever needed it.

“Yeah, Harry, I know. You’re the best, best friend I could ever hope for, ‘part from Hermione of course.”

They both laughed and made their way to the Gryffindor dorms and their respective beds.


	2. Awareness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry watches Ron's temper build to boiling point and bubble over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I hadn't realised it had been over a year since I worked on this... Hopefully you guys like this as much as the previous chapter. I have the shape of the next one so the gap between updates shouldn't be so long this time!

The next week settled back to normal. Hermione nagged them about their homework, Ron waxed lyrical about the Chudley Cannons and Harry tried to ignore all the stares and whispers that followed him through Hogwarts’ corridors. Of course, that didn’t last long at all. 

Hermione’s nagging shifted to the egg - Harry wasn’t at all willing to open it again after the last attempt. Ron had wholeheartedly agreed with that, and said he could still hear the echoes in his ears. 

Harry’s temper rose; his patience pushed to its very limits by the hostile stares of most of the school population, and the increasingly absurd rumours about his sanity, love-life and exactly how he’d gotten into the Triwizard Tournament and why. 

But through it all Harry started to notice things, as if a Notice-me-not charm had suddenly been lifted. He watched Ron slowly start to fly apart; first coiling into himself, and then, as if a balloon bursting under the strain, everything that had been repressed exploding out. The progression from happy and laidback - returning Hermione’s ribbing good-naturedly; to angry and fractious - responding with clenched fists and insults designed to cut. It was like watching the Ron he knew be buried underneath another personality, one made up of all his faults and none of his strengths. 

It all came to a head just before curfew one night, coming back from the library after Hermione had managed to corral them into finishing their potions essay for the next day. 

“Really Ronald, we covered the reasons for powdering ingredients in the last set of readings. Chapter 7 of the text clearly states that-” Hermione began, working up to a rant of epic proportions. 

“Yeah, yeah. Not everyone reads every bloody page of every textbook ever assigned in Hogwarts’ history.” Ron cut her off with an ugly sneer on his face. “Not everyone’s a know-it-all with an inferiority complex.” He threw Hermione’s own words from a previous argument; when she’d accused him of being a coward afraid of not being able to live up to his brother; back in her face. But irregardless whether or not he completely understood what he was saying, it hit hard.

Hermione gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “Well, this know-it-all will be leaving then. Find someone else to write your homework essays for you.” She said, and ducked around a corner, footsteps quickening into the distance. 

“Mate, you didn’t have to say that. You know Hermione’s just trying to help. And with this bloody Tournament, we’re all a bit on edge, yeah?”

“Oh I’m sorry, Chosen One. Is my intellect to low for your standards?” Ron growled mockingly, getting up in Harry’s space; eyes wild and shaking with something undefined. 

“Hey.” Harry frowned, reaching up to put a hand squarely in the middle of Ron’s chest. “You know I don’t subscribe to that shite.” He pushed out just the slightest bit, just enough for Ron to feel the pressure against his sternum. 

Ron pushed forward, and they ended up with Harry crowded up against the corridor wall, his hand jammed between their bodies. Foreheads nearly touching, Ron stopped, eyes wild. He froze in place and then sagged like his strings had been cut. His head thunked onto Harry’s shoulder, hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders.

“No-no-no-no-no, no, no, NO! Not again, wasn’t going to do it again. Was gonna be good. Wan’ned to be. Tried to be. ‘M sorry Harry.” And so Harry ended up with a lapful of sobbing Weasley again. Thankfully the corridor was quiet, they’d taken a shortcut through a rarely used section of the castle only accessible via a false wall on alternating months. 

Like when Ron had found him after the First Task, Harry sat with him and soothed as best he could. Carded his fingers through Ron’s hair and stroked down his back. Murmured soothing nonsense. After the tears had subsided and the shaking had stopped Ron spoke again, voice thick and rough.

“I dun wanna be like that. I like Hermione. She’s nice, and sweet an’ nothin’ like my brother’s and sister. And even thou’ I can’ stan’ her nagging sometimes, I c’n tell she’s doing it cause she  _ wan’s to _ . An’ I just, ‘s not ‘cause of an obli-obli- whatever, ‘cause she has to. And just- and I just.” Ron whimpered into Harry’s shoulder. “I keep hurtin’ her. An’ you too. An’ I don’ know how to stop.”

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. We’ll figure something out. You’re already better than my cousin, he wants to hurt people, goes out of his way to.” Harry took a breath and looked Ron in the eyes. “We’ll head back to the Tower, and sleep, and tomorrow morning you’re going to apologize to Hermione.”

“Buh-!”

“Ron.” He said sternly, “You’ll apologize to Hermione.”

“But she’s scary when she’s mad.” He said quietly. “I dun like it when people are mad.”

“Maybe she’s scary, but you’ve got to give her a chance to understand. So, you’ll apologize, and then we’ll figure out something. A way to let you keep your head, okay?”

“Alright, Harry.”

“Promise me, alright?”

“I promise.” He mumbled sulkily into the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Promise what, Ron?”

“That I’ll ‘pologize to ‘Mione in the mornin’.” He said, and reluctantly pulled himself up to look at Harry’s face, “I will.” Then he yawned, jaw popping as it reached its full extension and teeth clacking back together at the end. 

Harry suppressed a yawn of his own, and tugged them both up off the cold stone. “Bed. Siren song. Ron, we gotta stop doing this so far away from the Tower this late.”

“Mm. Gotta dodge Filch now. Find somewhere closer next time, Harry.” His words were starting to slur, and he was slumped heavily over Harry’s back. 

Somehow they made it back without massive loss of house points, detention or running into any other students out after curfew. The Fat Lady opened without a fuss, though it seemed as though she was saving a lecture for when they were more awake, and they stumbled up to their beds in the dorm. 

Robes shucked and pajamas on, Harry turned to Ron again. “Tomorrow.” he said, before climbing under the covers.

“Yeah, Harry. Good night.”

“Good night, Ron.” Harry replied, tugging the curtains closed around the bed and tucking his wand under his pillow. 


End file.
